


Trendjacking

by Destiny_Smasher



Category: Hustle Cat (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/F, Female Homosexuality, Female Protagonist, Magic, POV Female Character, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 21:35:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16167368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destiny_Smasher/pseuds/Destiny_Smasher
Summary: My roommate's been working at this cat café for some time, now. Started dating their chef. Filled me in on the, uh, 'goings on' there. Couldn't deny, the place was full of cuties. The people, I mean. Not the cats. I'm more of a dog person. But, well, everyone's got exceptions – seems that Finley is mine.(Non players of Hustle Cat CAN read this POV fic)





	Trendjacking

**Author's Note:**

> This fic comes to you thanks to the support of callowGuru. It takes place after the events of Hustle Cat, following the 'Mason' route. It features an original character as the POV protagonist.

  
_My roommate's been working at this cat café for some time, now. Started dating their chef. Filled me in on the, uh, 'goings on' there. Couldn't deny, the place was full of cuties. The people, I mean. Not the cats. I'm more of a dog person. But, well, everyone's got exceptions – seems that Finley is mine._

  
\- - -  
  
**_Hustle Cat_**  
_Trendjacking_  
  
\- - -

 

A delicious donut, as expected. Early worm purchase, too, so it's still fresh. That old man makes the best damn donuts I know. It's a little bit of a pain to walk  _past_ the café just to visit his corner store, only to loop back around, but...I like him. I like his donuts. I want to support the guy. Plus, well, he's got ties to my roommate, in a sense? Just seems like a nice thing to do.

 

Also, did I mention how damn delicious his donuts are?

 

I always end up buying two, because one of them is often gone by the time I've looped back around to the Cat's Paw café, and the entire point is to have a delicious donut to eat with the delicious coffee.  
  
Sometimes I feel a little guilty, like I'm passively telling Mason 'your grandpa's donuts are better.' And I mean, I'm no chef, so I can't explain  _why,_ but they  _are_ better, even if slightly so. Not that I would ever tell her that. And not like I  _never_ buy Mason's donuts instead sometimes. I totally do. Try to keep it even. Almost event. Two-to-three ratio? It's, ya know, it's negligible, the difference between these donuts. Why bother even dwelling on it, right?  
  
Where was I?  
  
On my way back to the Cat's Paw for some morning coffee. And probably lunch. Brunch? I guess technically you could call it brunch, since I substitute donuts for breakfast, and donuts  _really_ don't count as  _actual_ breakfast.  
  
Ah, yea – splitting hairs again, sorry. You're probably here for the tense silences between acquaintances, where eyes are glazed over and awkward flirting abounds.  
  
Well, I'm getting there, keep your pants on, you perv. These things typically take  _time,_ ya know?  
  
Granted, I am skipping over some of it, aren't I? Months of it. A bit of a cheap tactic, I know. But let's be honest, 'ain't nobody got time for that.' Plus? Would you _really_ want me to bore you with pages and pages of 'omigosh MAGIC how wut how do??'  
  
Because there was totally a lot of that. But we're past it.  
  
Avery caught me up quick enough, and what can I say? I'm always fussing over the details, getting hung up on the slightest lack of cohesion, lack of explanation. And believe me, my new friends out here, they just  _simmer_ in the vagueness. It confounds, but it's also not  _quite_ my business. Not quite my place.  
  
After all, I'm just a customer.  
  
A regular. Uh, that is, a Regular. Capital 'R,' there. Everybody knows me – even the eccentric owner, Graves, that goth loon who's barely there. He let me use his personal apartment bathroom that one time. And then also all of the times after that, mainly because he wasn't there to say 'not again,' and secondly because none of his employees thought to stop me. Sort of like an extended family member, I guess? That weird but loveable cousin you find cute 'but not  _too_ cute because dude, she's your cousin, gross, but yea, anyway, you know where the bathroom is, feel free to take something from the fridge if you're hungry, but Mason'll have dinner ready in like an  _hour,_ so don't spoil your appetite.'  
  
Uh. But yea.  
  
I really like this place. The café, I mean.  
  
More of a dog person, though.  
  
A little ironic, right? It is, of course, a  _cat_ café. Literally full of cats. All the time.  
  
And yea, I  _know_ about the whole, like...'we were all secret cats' thing, with the employees? That was maybe the hardest part to believe when Avery got into all the magic shtick with the place.  
  
And then I had a fucking  _conversation_ with Jelly Donut.  _THE_ Jelly Donut, viral Internet sensation.  
  
Who also happens to be the cutest employee  _working_ at the damn place. Go figure.  
  
I looked her name up.  _Uh,_ the meaning of her name, I mean. Her given name: Finley.  
  
'Fair-haired warrior,' 'fair hero', or some such. Depends on who you ask.  
Finley is definitely all of those things, though, so it's fitting.  
  
Not that – I mean, a person's  _name_ doesn't define what they are, or anything like that.  
Mine sure doesn't.  
  
“Kassandra~”  
  
_HOH,_ shit, Finley is eager to see me. I-I mean, why... _wouldn't_ she be? Right?  
  
We made plans to hang out today. After work. Alone. For the first time.  
  
I'm actually more nervous about, like, people finding  _out_ about our date than I am about the date itself.  
  
Yea, see? I'm even calling it  _a date._ That's totally what it is. We both know it.  
Just because we haven't said it out  _loud_ yet, that doesn't mean we both don't know what it is.  
  
Just, I don't know, everyone  _else_ doesn't need to know about it. Yet. Or maybe even ever. At all.  
_Gah_ , that's impossible, obviously. And it would be crap to hide it from them, really.  
  
I mean, imagine if I had no idea about Avery and Mason, right? It'd be  _weird.  
  
_ Like there's any point in even dwelling on this stuff. We all know Finley will have made it  _abundantly obvious_ to everyone else that we're an item. And I do mean  _everyone,_ as in, potentially the entire populace of the planet, because she will  _totally_ selfie-post on social media before our date is even  _over._ I can already imagine the captions and hashtags she'll use...  
  
“Hey, gurrrrrlllpp...” Finley lowers her voice to a low rumble, rolling her 'rrr' out into that...that  _sound_ a cat makes when they're happy to see you? You know the one I mean.  
  
It's goddamn adorable and turns me on –  _fuck,_ she  _knows,_ she can  _tell,_ she's teasing and taunting me, damnit, is this going to be the rest of my  _day_ now? – and I hate that it turns me on, too, by the way.  
  
I told you, I'm a  _dog_ person. I promise.  
  
But I make exceptions. For this café. For this girl.  
  
Oh, right. So let me me super clear here: Finley can do magic. She can turn herself into a cat.  
Not just  _any_ cat. Like I said,  ** _Jelly Donut,_** like,  _the_ meme cat. She's  _got_ to be up there with 'Droopy French Frog' and 'House On Fire But It's OK.' Well, those are pictures, whereas Jelly Donut is more of a video thing, so, I don't know, like...Keyboard Parrot? Orrrrrr Triple Rainbow?

 

Ahhh yea, yea, I should probably be more focused on, like...how I'm going to go on a date with an Internet Celeb who is also MAGIC, huh? Good call. Probably more interesting than the search results frequency chart I desperately want to look up between Jelly Donut and other memes.  
  
So, yea. Resisting the urge to pull that up.  
  
Jelly Donut, in her equally adorable but actually-someone-I-want-to-make-out-with form, aka Finley, was totally into me. Obviously, I was into her, too. Beyond just the whole 'super pretty, celebrity, also MAGIC' stuff. You could knock out two of those three things and I'd  _still_ be all into her. Hell, knock off the third one and I'd still at  _least_  have an interest, right? Pretty sure.  
  
But she's also just great, generally, at being a human being.  
Also a cat. A fucking magic cat. Kind of a cool bonus.  
Even if I'm not a cat person.  
  
_Huh._ That thought makes me wonder...-  
  
Right-right-right, she's a human at the moment, and it is  _very_ distracting, the way she's guiding me toward the kitchen. Her hand hovers at the base of my back, just barely resting on the top curve of my butt. Knows what she likes, I figure, and the shorts I'm wearing today were strategically chosen to take advantage of that. I don't know if she likes denim, but the way she's hooking her finger through a belt loop make me think 'yes.'  
  
As she nudges me through the café, I notice it is surprisingly barren for a Saturday morning. I finish eating my first donut, which I've really been taking my time with, and I now have white powder caked all over me. Finley snags a napkin from one of the tables as we pass by and dusts me down a little, giggling into my ear in a way that causes my cheeks to sizzle. Not, like, a nervous sizzle, like an accidentally sparked match, but more similar to, say, a barbecue. And I'm definitely grilling up  _something._ I don't know what it is, exactly, yet, but...I know I'll figure it out when we get there.  
  
Finley practically kicks open the door to the kitchen, shoving me inside.  
  
Whoa, I've never really been  _back_ here before, have I?  
  
It's...not as magical as I'd assume. Given the whole, you know...fucking  **MAGIC** aspect? Of this place?  
  
Still feels pretty cool to be here, though. Just saying. A little more magic would've been nice.  
  
“Oh  _Aves..._ ” Finley teases to my grey-haired friend in the back. They're working hard at...something. With a mixing bowl. Potentially losing a fight with it?  
  
“Busy,” Avery blurts back, their tongue sticking out a little as they feverishly stir a wooden spoon.  
  
Mason, who's setting an oven, pauses to watch Avery, struggling with the bowl.  
  
“Gotta...-” Mason starts up, grumbling. “'S not the way to hold...-”  
  
“ _No,_ no, yea, I got it, I remember,” Avery sputters out, clumsily shifting their hands around to get a better grip on things as they stir.  
  
“Huh,” Mason puffs out simply. With a content, shockingly warm mutter of “Better,” she finishes getting the oven baking, before moving on to rolling out dough. Finley nudges me with her elbow, wriggling her brows and shifting her eyes to Mason.  
  
Mason is... _smiling?_ Just a little, but on  _her,_ it's super noticeable.  
  
“'S not allowed, ya know,” Mason grunts, not even looking up at us. She continues to flatten dough, that hint of a smile having withered away. “Can't be back here.”  
  
“I can't?” I mumble, a little wary at the dissatisfied glint in Mason's eye.  
  
“ _Oh,_ hey,” Avery greets, looking over their shoulder. They'd been so fixated on stirring that they didn't even notice me.  
  
“Hey.” I smile awkwardly and wave, but they've looked back down at their bowl.  
  
“Can leave now,” Mason blurts, thinning out the edges of her dough.  
  
“Ah, come  _on,_ ” Finley growls with an eyeroll. “It's  _Kassy,_ nobody cares.”  
  
“ _I_  care,” Mason bluntly declares. “'M working. Outta my kitchen. Both o' ya.”  
  
“But w-”  
“ **Out.** ”  
  
Mason stops what she's doing to send Finley the sharpest, coldest of glares. I get second-hand shivers from it. Damn, that woman can be scary when she wants to.  
  
Finley is frozen solid for a second until Mason's growl of “ **Now!** ” causes her to yelp with alarm, flinching against me (given where one of her hands is, I kinda don't mind, but am also spooked, so, it's weird).  
  
Shuddering, Finley whirls us around, peeling her hands off of me as we both fly out from whence we came. We stop immediately outside the door, which Finley briskly closes. After exchanging sheepish looks, we hear the strangest thing: Mason  _laughing_ with Avery. I've never heard Mason laugh before. I'd assumed she wasn't capable.  
  
I take a deep breath, stifling my own giggle as I exhale. Finley's worried look dissolves into a blushing snort-giggle.  
  
“I feel like...we should've known better,” I decide as we head toward the central couch circle of the café. “ _You_ should've known better.”  
  
“ _Heh,_ well, I...-” Finley's eyes do a loop as a smirk is drawn upon her face. “-... _do_ like to push my boundaries...” She slides a couple of her fingers into a belt loop on my hip and gives them a tuhh— _eeep,_ little too hard there...!  _Whew.  
  
_ Coughing a little from the surprisingly forceful gesture, I give her a playful shove – she reacts melodramatically, falling over onto one of the couches and scattering the two cats who were residing there. Sprawled across the couch, she wipes masses of black hair from her face, coyly staring up at me. I narrow my eyes and grin toothily back at her, kicking at the base of her shoe with the toe of my boot.  
  
Finley's giving me quite the suggestive look, and I do reciprocate, but tease her right back by sitting not beside her, but across from her. Hash Browns, the mangy sack of fur, eagerly plops into my lap, sniffing around at the donut bag still clenched in my hand. I shoo him away from it – three times, because, well, he's a damned  _cat_ – and he finally gives up, plopping into my lap and flinging his tail to and fro against my hip. Now that he's finally calmed down, I reward him with some pets on the head.  
  
Finley, still flayed out across the couch – and getting gradually surrounded by curious cats – gives me quite the pout.  
  
“Jealous?” I taunt her, scratching Hash Browns behind both ears – something I know Jelly Donut seems to enjoy quite a bit.  
  
“I get it,” Finley declares brusquely. “You're just...saving all of your affections for later.”  
  
“Have me  _alllll_ figured out, do ya?” I reply slyly, smiling warmly down at Hash Browns, while thinking about how this same thing might feel with a human Finley in his position.  
  
“You're easy to read,” Finley decides. “You're like a... _sponge._ You absorb whatever's going on around you. Which means as long as I keep flirting with you...-” Her expression shimmers with a certain dark glee.  
  
“Yo!” barks a voice from in front of me – behind the couch Finley is lounging on. “What gives? You on  _break_ or something? Already?”  
  
Ah, it's Reese. That pint-sized powerhouse of frustration. Like a human version of those mini cans of 'super energy drink' or something.  
  
“There's no one else  _here_ ,” Finley whimpers out a bored defense. She shoves herself up and fusses her hair into a presentable place.  
  
“Which-!” Reese cockily blurts, flashing up an index finger. “-makes it the  _perfect_ time for you to clean out the litter boxes...” He flicks at the brim of his cap, smiling devilishly at her.  
  
“ _Ugh-!_ ” Finley puffs with a pout. “But-...That...-!”  
  
“You  _know_ it's your turn,” Reese rubs it in, rocking on his heels as he shoves his hands into his pockets.  
  
“Yessssss,” Finley hisses through her palms, which are planted across her face. She suddenly removes them, giving me a twinkly-eyed look. “Hey  _Kassandra_...”  
“ _Nope_ ,” I spit out, cutting her idea off at the pass.  
  
Hey. Just because I'm crushing on her does  _not_ mean I am doing her literal dirty work, especially not while she's on shift and I'm having the day off.  
  
Finley slaps her wrists against the cushions at her side.  
  
“What's even the  _point_ of buttering you up, Kass, if you're not gonna do favors for me?”  
  
I shrug, continuing to pet Hash Browns, who is a purring blob in my lap.  
  
“Oh, I'm sure there's  _favors_ I can do,” I tease, “but cleaning up cat shit is  _not_ one of them.”  
  
Finley attempts to counter with “Yea? Well, I'll...make Hayes mess up your...macchiato, or...-”  
  
Reese groans, rolling his eyes at our mutual teasing. “Stop harassing customers and get to work.”  
  
Finley frowns, hopping up from the couch to give him a sarcastic salute. She stops off toward a back room. Reese watches her with suspicion for a moment. Then, his glance turns suspicion on  _me._ I look back innocently enough.  
  
“Is, uh, Hayes here yet?” I ask him.  
  
Scratching at his neck and leaning slightly to one side, he shrugs up one shoulder.  
  
“Think so, yea,” he mumbles. “You want something to drink? The usual?”  
  
“I'll go get it,” I insist, dumping Hash Browns off to one side. He tumbles without resistance into a pillow on the couch. Toting my donut bag roughly, I adjust my cap a little, making sure it's appropriately crooked at a one-eighths angle. I loosen my ponytail from the back of my shirt, trying to brush off some cat hair that probably got caught in it. A tension starts to build in my chest from the look Reese is giving me.  
  
“Oh, uh...-” Reese seems like he wants to say something, buuuut I'm not interested. For a while there, I thought maybe he had a thing for me – I don't think that anymore. At this point, I'm pretty sure he's trying to sway me  _off_ the Finley train, and hop aboard a different one. As I head for the stairs, Reese stumbles behind me a bit, mumbling out, “Hayes is a bit under the weather today, so, like...-”  
  
I pause, swivel on my heel, and face Reese, who catches up with me.  
  
“Spit it out,” I quietly advise him, any patience I had now drained from my expression.  
  
Reese doesn't flinch, but glances off to one side. He shrugs yet again, sways a little left and right, and looks me right in the eye.  
  
Reese mutters at me, “Finley was blabbing about your little... _date_.”  
  
The tension in my chest fizzes out like carbonated air upon opening a can of soda.  
  
“And Hayes is gloomy about it,” I immediately reply, dead-pan.  
  
Reese seems surprised I know. Seriously? It's not  _that_ hard to piece together. I figured there was a fifty-percent chance Finley would gossip about it before the date happened. I  _asked_ her not to. So this puts a wrinkle on things. But, she's... _her,_ and so...-  
  
It'd be like asking me to not dwell on analyzing things so much, right? Wait, what if that's actually a  _thing_ Finley has picked up on? What if she secretly wishes I stopped doing it? Would she tell everyone  _else_ and not me? Would she expect someone like  _Mason_ or  _Avery_ to nudge me in the 'right direction?'  _Ugh,_ I can't believe she would, and I'm so annoyed she  _told_ people about our date! When I specifically asked her not to! She...-  
  
Oh. Reese is looking confused and annoyed at once.  
  
“That's  _it_?” Reese grunts. “You don't care?”  
  
“What do you  _want_ me to say?” I growl back through clenched teeth, trying to keep my voice down. “Did I do something  _wrong_?”  
  
Reese's eyelids droop with impatience.  
  
“Guess not,” he concedes.  
  
The entrance door's bell chimes as a pair of customers come in.  
  
“Look,” I sigh, the paper bag in my hand crinkling within my fist. “I like Hayes as much as the rest of you, all right? But he's a  _big boy,_ he can deal with a little rejection. If you  _care_ so much, why don't  _you_ take him out on a date?”  
  
“Whhh...-?” Reese's eyes bug out for a split-second, his face lighting up.  
  
Ha. That'll shut him up. And I mean, hey, am I wrong? They'd probably make a cute enough couple, as far as the whole 'opposites-attract' business goes, right?  
  
“Oh, good morning, Kass,” greets Landry, descending the stairwell.

I tip my chin up at him and nod. “Yea, morning,” I reply.  
  
He notices Reese's off-kilter expression and lifts a brow, revealing a smirk.  
  
“Everything...all right?” he checks.  
  
“We're good,” Reese blurts, rushing off to greet the customers who have just entered.  
  
I laugh through my nose and let Landry reach the ground level.  
  
“Just putting Reese in his place,” I joke, giving Landry a cocked eyebrow. “You next in line?”  
  
Landry rolls with the punch and chuckles with a mix of wariness and irritation.  
  
“Quite the chip on your shoulder today, huh?” he says softly, pleasantly enough, while brushing right past me. “Just don't take anything out on the cats...”  
  
“I won't,” I call back, heading upstairs.  
  
Yea, we, uh...we tolerate each other, he and I. Just sorta rub each other the wrong way, you know? Goes that way with people sometimes. You can either hang yourself up on it, or roll with it. We roll with it.  
  
I hit up the café counter upstairs. Hayes must've heard me coming a mile off, because he's sulking by the espresso machine. I drop my donut bag on an empty table nearby and lean against the counter, marveling at the donuts on display. I can't help but admire the cute little post-it note taped to the inside the glass, right above where the house special 'Jelly Donut' is. A scribble I drew of Finley in her cat form a week back – winking, with stars popping off of her. Looks like someone decided it was decent enough advertising, huh?  
  
I drum my fingers along the glass a few times, and after the glowing tingle over that post-it note wears off, I realize how long I've been waiting with no response from Hayes.  
  
“Heya, Bud,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral.  
  
His shoulders tighten instantly at the sound of my voice. Yeesh.  
  
“Kassandra,” he calls back, his low but soft voice like the humming of the machine he's operating. “H-how are you?”  
  
“Pretty good, pretty good,” I casually respond, reading his body language to get a gauge on things. Now I'm kinda pissed that Reese told me what he did. I'll be self-conscious about it all day. “And, uh, and you?” I pose.  
  
“O-oh, I'm...-” Hayes shakes his head slightly. As he turns around to get some steamed milk going, I see his nose wrinkle up with frustration. “I'm fine,” he sighs out. Though clearly, he's lying.  
  
_Gah._ Not my fucking problem, all right? Sorry, little guy. My stretched fingers, once drumming, have balled up into a fist, and I am lightly knocking my knuckles now. A little awkwardly.  
  
It's weird, I guess, how I'm so infatuated by Finley yet can keep up with her just fine, and yet with Hayes, I just end up...pretty quickly turning into my most awkward self.  
  
OK, OK,  _yea,_ maybe I feel a little guilty. Me and Hayes had a stint of back and forth for a bit – in as much as you can with someone as shy and introvertedly dipped in awksauce as Hayes is. Finley, being Finley, took a quick interest in this. Aaaand in her attempts at poking and prodding about it, we kinda...got into each other? Instead?  
  
Look, it's not like I meant anyone any harm, all right? I never  _committed_ anything to anyone, no promises were made, no poetry recited, not even a date. So, don't judge me so hard. Is Hayes cute? Of course he is. If it weren't for Finley, would something have happened? Maybe. I don't know! It doesn't matter. I like Finley, she likes me, that's just how things worked out. Even if I  _could_ go back in time, make different decisions, I don't – yea, you know what? I don't think I  _would_. I'd do everything the same. Sorry, Hayes. No offense, Bud. You'll find somebody who likes you that way 100% instead of, like, 45%? I mean, hell,  _Mason_ found a partner, and she's...about as socially awkward as you are, so, yea, keep your chin up, kid.  
  
Damn, I know Hayes isn't a kid. I've gotta stop thinking of him that way.  
  
“K-Kassandra...?”  
  
Oh, shit. He's been murmuring so quietly I didn't even notice him. Like I need to make him look  _less_ cared about right now...  
  
“Sorry, spaced out there,” I chuckle weakly, tugging at my ponytail a little. The curls in my hair are starting to bug out, all this humidity...  
  
“R-right, you, um, you...do that a lot,” Hayes points out, gingerly sliding a big ol' ceramic mug of macchiato across the counter. “Here's the usual.”  
  
“Ah-!” I blank out for a second before my hand fumbles its way into my hoodie, producing a bill of cash. I drop it onto the counter and force a smile, my mind tumbling with worries. “Thanks, dude. Bro.  _Buddy._ Bud.”  _Ffffffffffrrrrghhh-_ “Ha. Haha.” I devolve into dumb, plastic laughs to try and save face.  
  
Hayes laughs gently but earnestly at my awkwardness, smiling a little as he rings up the order. He extends a hand to give me my change, and I hesitate. So does he. He then goes to place it on the counter but I scoop it up instead, my fingers sliding across his.  
  
Yikes, wrong move, he  _freaks_ out, flinging the change into my palm, which then scatters across the glass top when I flinch.  
  
“Sorry! Sorry, sorry,” he squeaks, backing up. “I didn't mean to...-”  
  
“Fine, it's fine!” I wearily insist, scooping up coins and shoving them into my pocket – damn tight shorts make that feat harder than it could be. “Listen, Hayes, I...-”  
  
Might as well rip the bandage off, here.  
  
“It's OK, Kassy, you...-”  
  
He tries to respond when I falter, only to falter himself.  
  
We both gawk anywhere  _but_ toward each other for a few seconds.  
  
“I like Finley,” I blurt. “Super into her.” He nods. I keep going. “Sorry if I, like, got your...hopes up? Or something? I didn't-...Well, didn't mean to-...” I stop myself, stick up my palm. “ _OK._ You're awesome. Totally. It  _sucks,_ this idea, right? – that you'll think you're not awesome? Just 'cuz one moron like me isn't into you like that? It sucks. Don't do that.” Unsure of what to do with myself, I take a sip of my macciato – fucking  _delicious._  “Just because me and Finley might become a thing, doesn't mean you're backwash coffee. Or...-”  
  
“What?” Hayes looks confused and offended.  
  
“ _Ayyyyyeeeee_ said you  _weren't_ that,” I blabber, propping out my lower lip before sipping more of my drink.  _Damnit,_ I didn't even pay attention to whatever he  _drew_ with the foam! I'm such a bad friend! I'm messing this up! What if there's a  _thing_ between us where we're all dumb and awkward? It'll be  _terrible._  
  
“Aw, takin' your first coffee break without me?”  
  
It's Finley.  _Good,_ maybe having her around will clear up all of my awksauce!  
  
“Ah, just-...Ya know.” I lean against the counter, sipping at my drink. “Telling Hayes I'm into you, apologizing for, I dunno, leading him on –  _unintentionally._ Ah, like-” I yank my ponytail a bit, then just opt to undo/redo the thing while I talk. “-I mean, the  _focus_ here is on...the apologizing, right? That I'm sorry for mixed communication type-stuff?”  
  
By the time I've got my hair back in a somewhat presentable state, and have my hat back to a one-eighths angle, I notice the other two are quiet.  
  
“Ih-It's OK,” Hayes manages to say. Whoa, nice job, guy, proud of you! “I, um-...” He clenches his jaw, grabs his arm with the opposing hand, and sighs – but a smile comes out. “I feel like Finley's always fussing over...a-all of  _our_ love lives. It's...I-I don't know, it's nice to...see  _you_ happy with someone for once.” He tips his head to Finley, whose expression melts.  
  
Clasping her cheeks, she showers him with whimpering noises, leaning over the counter to give him as much of a hug as she can. These guys at the Cat's Paw are really close, huh? Avery wasn't kidding when they said it was like a family.  
  
I'm still not sure how I feel about that.  
  
I've lost myself in thought again as Finley coos out gratitude, but my attention is  _swiftly_ and decisively brought back to earth as Finley sidles right up in front of me. Grabbing my chunky hips, she gives my love-handles a brisk squeeze, then a pat.  
  
“You're 'into me' now?” she whispers slyly, our noses inches apart.  
  
I frown a little, lowering my eyelids at her, and shrug.  
  
“Who said  _that_?” I taunt.  
  
“ _You_ did,” Finley jabs back, pressing her fingertip into my nose.  
  
I sputter and snicker, pushing her away.  
  
“Hey,  _hey_!”  _Gahhhh,_ Reese again! “The hell, Finley? You're on the clock. Yer gonna make Hayes uncomfortable.”  
  
“A-actually, I was...fine with...-”  
  
“See? He's all shaken up. No PDA while the store's open. It's against policy.”  
  
“Oh, and I bet you enforce  _that_ with Mason,” Finley retorts.  
  
Reese huffs at this, crossing his arms.  
  
He tries to reason, “ _Mason_ works in the  _kitchen,_ where none of the  _customers_ see her.”  
  
“That sounds like a double-standard to me,” Finley breathes out stubbornly, raising her eyebrows at me, her eyelids at half-mast. I can't help but smirk back, but I  _do_ have to admit, it's awkward to have all of this going on simultaneously. “Why don't we go bring this up with Avery and their girlfriend, huh?” Finley poses to Reese, giving my stomach a slap with the back of her wrist.  
  
“I am...staying  _clear_ outta this,” I insist with a swipe of my hands. Finley shrugs, and bumps shoulders against Reese as she blows by him. The runt practically hisses steam through his nostrils as he follows her.  
  
The customers who had entered earlier come up the stairs shortly after. Hayes is occupied with filling their order, so I finally go about eating that second donut and enjoying my macchiato. As the customers take a seat at the table next to me, I overhear them talking about the cats, wondering where Jelly Donut is. Heh. I can't help but feel a bit of pride at that.  
  
But it also has a side effect of me questioning myself. Is the Finley I'm into the  _real_ Finley? Am I into her because of  _her_ or because she's good at making people like her? Am I the type of girl to go for the type of girl who's willing to turn into a magical cat to get people's attention and seek internet celebrity? Or am I just-  
  
Ohp.  
  
My coffee ran out.  
  
Slurping what foam remains, I drum my fingers against the table. Leaning over the edge of the loft from my seat, I notice Finley is busy chatting up some customers. I decide there's no use analyzing things with her. Either she's exactly who I need and vice versa, or not, and it'll reveal itself later, and we'll move on. I'm better off enjoying what we've found, anyway.  
  
Uncertain as to when Finley will be free again, I decide to check my e-mail on my phone. There's fortunately just one work-related message to deal with, which I make quick work of. But then I start noticing that I've got an  _ass-ton_ of notifications on one of my apps. I check it, and turns out, it's a photo of me that's blown up. A photo of me and Finley, that. Something uploaded a week ago, which I wasn't tagged in until now. It's a candid shot of the two of us lounging together on one of the couches, surrounded by cats. Finley is, uh, cuddling up right on me, her face is in my neck.  
  
I suddenly remember the moment in question – a moment of quiet we'd snuck in near closing the prior Thursday, some time right after I'd asked Finley out on this date. But I don't recognize the uploader, which gives me a gross feeling.  
  
The pic hasn't become  _too_ noticed yet, but definitely more than I'd like. Hundreds of likes and like fifty comments. A bunch of them are, erh, well, flat and boring emoji-laden compliments about our looks. There's some typical trolling swill, a few rainbow-themed ones of support, but it's the caption from the uploader itself that has me the most worried.  
  
[ girls like this piss me off. teasing us every day with selfies and showing themselves off and when you try to take them up on it theyre just lesbos like wtf?? ]  
  
For starters, neither of us are lesbians, so there's that to be irked by _–_ bi-erasure and all that, though, er, I guess I can't really speak for Finley, but, anyway. And then there's this  _whole_ other issue with the tone. Bad take is bad.  
  
Also? Having our love life creeped on by a stranger is totally not OK with me, and having it  _publicized_ is  **extremely fucking not OK with me.  
  
** Should I do something? Should I tell Finley? Should I be worried that I was tagged in this by some other rando customer that follows me? Well, Finley's tagged, too. She's gonna find out sooner or later, maybe I should talk with her about this?  
  
“Well, well – you appear troubled today.” My body freezes up and I instinctively flip my phone upside down to the table. It's Graves. The hell did he come from? “I suppose if I steeped myself in the comings and goings of random strangers with such frequency, I, too, might be...troubled.”  
  
Graves has gone and sat himself down, placing a cup of Hayes' coffee on a saucer before him.  
  
“Gonna give me a 'back in my day' lecture?” I mock him, scratching behind my ear and crossing one leg over the opposing knee.  
  
“I see you've already had your morning macchiato, and  _still_ your mood is sour,” he notes, taking a prim sip with his pinky out – ironically? Not ironically? I'm unsure. “You truly  _are_ troubled today.” His dual-colored eyes are hard to read today. “Should I be concerned? Must I have a chat with someone under my employ?”  
  
I shrug, crossing my arms over my chest as I lean back in my chair.  
  
“Mayhap you shalt be concerned-eth with...-” My eyes slip to and fro at Graves' bemused smirk. “-...one of thou...paying customers...” I could come up with a more accurate, eloquent way of phrasing it but I'd need time to plan ahead.  
  
Why did I even  _do_ that, anyway? I must be thrown off from this social media nightmare.  
  
Graves ponders my mess of a statement, tilting over the loft's end to gaze down at the wide open lobby below.  
  
“Has someone harassed you?” he questions quietly, scanning the café.  
  
“ _Oh,_ wh-...Nah, no one here,” I sputter out, at once flattered and squeamish. It'd be cool to see Graves take care of business, given his reputation, but I feel dumb for having spread my worries to someone not involved.  
  
“But someone  _has_ ,” Graves takes note.  
  
Damn, no use hiding from this guy, is there?  
  
Sifting my nails through my ponytail, I let my eyes do a little roll as I nod half-heartedly.  
  
“Someone's stalking us, maybe,” I confess in a mumble, making sure Hayes is out of earshot. “Uh, me and Finley.”  
  
“Mm.” I see Graves' eyes narrow before he diverts his gaze back to me. With a smile as warm as...leftover tomato soup that's been put in the fridge, he assures me, “Any of my employees can take care of such matters as needed. Though if...an  _altercation_ might transpire while I'm not around, might I recommend deferring to Mason?”  
  
“You, uh, you might,” I chuckle with a grin. “She's scary as  _fuck_.  _Urh,_ in a good way!”  
  
He laughs through nose, his lukewarm smile unchanging.  
  
“Fear begets security, depending on perspective,” he muses. He takes a good few gulps of his coffee. “The opposite is true, as well, of course.”  
  
“Of course,” I spit out, having not entirely processed what he's even said, but assuming I get the gist.  
  
“In either case,” Graves continues, drinking more inbetween pieces of sentences, “I believe that by now, you've no-doubt become aware of just how much the crew of this establishment are...inter-linked. In every facet of things.”  
  
I nod, wide-eyed, jiggling my foot by its ankle against my knee.  
  
“As I understand it, Kassandra, my employee Avery has filled you in on many of the seedy details of the Cat's Paw. Even allowed you to peruse through a certain... _text?_ ”  
  
He pauses for confirmation, to which I hesitate with a side-glance before shrugging up one shoulder. From what Avery has told me, they seemed pretty frustrated with this dude's secrecy. I get it, though. I'd hate if Finley or Avery or whoever was lying to me, but only because of how close I am with them now. A stranger, though? You damned well know I'd be hiding things like this.  
  
Graves has every reason to be concerned. I've seen Avery reading that shady book of his. I have some idea of how suspicious this whole place is.  
  
“I won't dwell on the matter any further,” Graves offers, “If Avery trusts your judgment, then I will let that stand. I would only request that you approach my marketing manager with respect and with caution, and that you keep what you know within the bounds of the employees here.”  
  
I swallow the lump that's gathered in my throat, wet my dried lips a little, and nod.  
  
“Understood, Sir.”  
  
Graves pauses, his two eyes like a sword and a spear's tips pressed against my neck. Just as I realize I've stopped breathing for a sec, he dissolves the tension with a light laugh and finishes his coffee.  
  
“No need to be so  _formal,_ ” he slides words out. “Graves is perfectly adequate between us. You've slept on my  _couch_ before, after all.”  
  
“Heh.” I push out a smile, recalling that night. I'd made the mistake of stumbling in late after bar-hopping with some of the gang – Finley and Avery had goaded me into drinking more than I could handle – and they'd deemed it safer to hole me up in Graves' apartment then try and drag my ass back home. Apparently Mason had offered, but even she had been so falling-down drunk she'd nearly dropped me through a table on the way out. None of us drank for a month after that night. But waking up with Jelly Donut curled at my side was nice – even if I immediately bailed for the bathroom for like half an hour.  
  
By now, Graves has already headed off, probably bidding farewell while I've been spacing.  
  
I hear Finley behind me, asking him if there's anything in particular he needs her to take care of. My ears are ringing a little. Graves did a good job of distracting me but now I'm right back to freaking the hell out over our stalker.  
  
I try to keep my cool as Finley practically bounds toward the same seat Graves was in – hands locked behind her back, eyes narrow. She whirls around with a flourish as she descends into the chair.  
  
“Soooo,” she begins slowly, waiting on me while I just gawk. “How was your breakfast? Have a nice  _chat?_ ”  
  
I nod, captivated by the twinkly playfulness in her eyes. My hand hovers by my phone as I begin wondering what Finley will want to do about our situation.  
  
“Um,” Finley blurts, resting her cheeks in her palms, elbows to the table. She's off-put by my silence. I fuss with my hat, avoiding her gaze. Finley follows up with “Thanks for, like, tackling that elephant in the room with Hayes. That all went smoother than I expected.”  
  
“Mmmm- _hm_ ,” I hum, trying to placate. My palm rests over my phone.  
  
Finley finally catches wise and frowns.  
  
Leaning in a bit, she whispers, “Did Graves say something weird to you?”  
  
“Ah, not really,” I sigh. My fingers tighten around I phone. I decide to just do it.  
  
I flip my phone over, unlock it, and slide it across the table with a huff.  
  
“Eh?” Finley cocks her side at an angle curiously. I watch her eyes slowly widen, her jaws clench up, her chest expand as she inhales deeply. “...What?” she hisses. “That...-!” She grinds her jaws, scratching her fingernails against the table. Snorting out hot air, she passes my phone back to me.  
  
“Yea,” I spit out dully. “This? Very not cool.  _This_ is why I get so fucking  _paranoid_ when you start pulling out your phone, and...-”  
“This is  _not_ the same as me posting selfies – with your consent?”  
“ _No,_ but it-...I'm just-...It's the whole...-”  
  
Finley shakes her head, flashes up a palm, and tightens her lips – my signs to shut it up, shut it up now.  
  
It's, um, kind of our signal when we  _really_ don't want to get into an argument right then and there. And I should've known better than to bring this up, as it's something we've fought about in the past (when she posted a pic of me online without my permission!). We've set some ground rules, but I'm still weird about my face being on the internet.  
  
“I  _know_ this stalker,” Finley growls, clawing her fingers through her hair. “He tried to ask me out a while back – was the  _nicest_ person, right up until then. He's been leaving nasty troll comments on my selfies and I had to block him from the Cat's Paw social media feeds, even.”  
  
“A Nice Guy (Trademark). Sounds...fun,” I eke out with worry. “He still come around here?”  
  
“ _Apparently_ ,” she puffs out, her palms digging into her eye sockets. “That post was from last week.”  
  
“Oh, r-right, yea...” I feel stupid for even asking, but my mind is whirling. “So, what do we do about it?”  
  
“I already blocked him,” Finley grumbled, her hands having wiped their way down her face to her neck. With a brisk breath, she folds her hands together on the table. “If he minds his manners when he's here, it's...fine. But I've already warned everyone about him, so if he tries to make some kind of scene...-”  
  
“-...we get to watch Mason chuck him through a window,” I cheekily conclude, to which Finley smiles.  
  
Putting on some kind of a voice, Finley declares, “I like yer thinkin', toots.”  
  
I snort-laugh. “Ew.” I can feel my cheeks burn up.  
  
“ _Hee._ ” Finley's eyes squint as she grins toothily. “Promise I'll never do  _that_ again...”  
  
“Good,” I solemnly accept. “Good...”  
  
Finley straightens her hair back behind her shoulders, pulls out her phone, and begins tapping away.  
  
“Let me handle the photo, here, Kass. I've got my daily rounds to make, anyway.”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
I take her at her word and we enjoy some time together in silence. Our bubble of quiet is set adrift in a lake of coffee machine hisses, idle chatter, cat mews, and the clattering of silverware on ceramic. Our feet find their way together, and before I know it, her ankles are criss-crossed.  
  
I pass some time away catching up on my social media feeds, ignoring everything related to that photo – I mute notifications from it. I have a DM from my brother asking me what's going on. I ignore it. I haven't even come out to him yet, and have no idea how he'd take it.  
  
I eventually find myself playing a dumb waifu-gacha strategy game Finley had me try out. Gotta get my dailies taken care of. Even though this entire game is a pointless time-suck. But there's an event going on and like the  _one character_ from the entire series that I actually care about is available for once. So.  
  
Still no luck today, though. I'll have to try again tomorrow.  
  
But I take the opportunity to savor that my luck in real life is better than some mobile gambling game.  
  
“ _Hey_ , what the hell?” Ah. Right on cue, it's Reese. “We've got a crowd downstairs waiting for Jelly Donut to show up, what are you  _doing_?”  
  
“My  _job_ ,” Finley groans. “Managing our online presence.”  
  
“ _Psss!_ ” Reese flicks a dismissive wrist. “Sure,  _you_ get to dick around on your phone and get paid for it...”  
  
“ _Look,_ ” Finley huffs, tucking her phone away and getting up. I lament our feet disconnecting. “I'll go do the  _other_ part of my job if it'll get you off my back...”  
  
“Maybe it would,” Reese grunts back as she brushes him by again. He dodges her attempt at bumping shoulders, but she ends up taking a swipe at his hat and knocking it off his head and onto my table.  
  
He snaps at her, flustered, and scoops his hat up from in front of me – I lean back to avoid him. He makes a weird, disgusted sound at me.  
  
“Look, you got a problem with me, bub?” I snipe at him. I'm just  _so_ not in the mood for  _his_ mood today.  
  
“What?” he peeps, his face pink as he shoves his hat back on. “Puh-problem? It's... _Finley._ You and-...”  
“You need me to leave, or something?” I propose bluntly, kicking my chair out and shoving myself up.  
  
I approach Reese, get right up in his face – er, well, he's a little short, so it's more like I'm staring down at him, but you know what I mean.  
  
I add, “'Cuz I can just go, if I'm causing  _that_ much of a problem, here.”  
  
“I didn't  _say_ nothing like that,” Reese sighs, scooting sideways to let a customer go downstairs. “It's  _Finley's_ job to act professional when...she's... _on_ the job.”  
  
“And I'm a distraction, that it?”  
  
“You tell  _me._ ”  
  
“How'd that little talk with Mason and Aves go, then? Huh?”  
  
His frown gets more embittered at my question.  
  
“Yea,” I spit, letting my jaw hang open as I nod tartly. “Maybe stop getting up in her shit, I'm not holding her back from anything. But ya know what?” I flick my ponytail, adjusting it a little, then my hat. I walk right past the twerp. “Just so you can calm your ass down? I'll leave for a while.”  
  
“You don't have to react like this,” Reese grumbles, following me. “I'm doing my  _job_ as the assistant manager.”  
  
“Right, and I can  _tell_ my being here causes a real  _problem_ for you,” I counter, continuing downward.  
  
“I didn't  _say_ that,” he sighs with exasperation.  
  
I stop halfway down, swivel on my heel, and jam an index finger at him so hard I nearly pick his nose.  
  
“You  _didn't_ ,” I agree. “But you might as  _well_ be. Get off Finley's back. You have no idea what kinds of crap she has to deal with...”  
  
“What does  _that_ mean?” Reese hisses into my ear.  
  
I shake my head, swivel right back around, and keep descending.  
  
“Means whatever you want it to,” I write off the question.  
  
\- - -  
  
A flurry of swear words fly from my mouth through clenched teeth as I feverishly flick at the plastic stick wedged in my hand. I jam the ball-tipped stick in wild patterns, I slam my fingertips at the big buttons...It's a cacophony of plastic parts as my knowledge of the mechanics goes out the window in my panic.  
  
I lose the final round – again – and the bitch of an end boss cackles at my defeat.  
  
“Awwww,” Finley coos with sympathy, rubbing her slender fingers across my back – she finagles her fingers beneath my bra strap and gives it a tug, snapping it. The gesture startles me from lamenting at my characters defeated pose as the timer ticks down.  
  
“Well, I tried,” I point out with a dejected sigh.  
  
Finley aligns my strap back into place, neatly covering it with my tanktop, and gives me a delicate pat on the head.  
  
“You sure did,” she agrees in a chirp, like a mother bird encouraging its baby for flapping its wings but going nowhere.  
  
I back away from the arcade cabinet and give her a playful elbow bump in her ribs. She flinches, taking a step back but yanking me by the wrist. We grapple a little, until I have her pinned against a crane game machine, the backs of her hands pressed against the glass, our fingers woven together.  
  
The single, goggled eyeball of one of those damned yellow 'Flunkies' from that stupid animated movie  _glares_ at me from over Finley's shoulder, its soul-less form trapped in the machine, its lifeless eye  _pleading_ at me to save it from its fate.  
  
I devolve into snort-snickers against Finley's chest, my hat swerving sideways against her shoulder. Our hands dangle downward, then her hands wrap around my back. Mine find their way against her hips.  
  
She's laughing, but is confused. “I don't-...What it is? What?”  
  
Still struggling to calm my laughter down, I nod my head over. She cranes her head around to look, yelps with fright, and pulls me a step away, sighing. She smacks the base of my neck, scolding me as if I've just played a prank.  
  
“ _Ow_ ,” I laugh, though it didn't really hurt. “Not  _my_ fault those creeps are  _everywhere_.”  
  
“I've been, like,  _scarred_ now. From this. Emotionally scarred.” Finley is nodding as she says this, putting on a serious look.  
  
“ _How_?” I dare her to sell me on the bit she's started.  
  
“I was... _exposed_ to...-” She gestures her head toward the crane game machine. “-... _that._ While I had you against me. I was  _forced_ against that machine, made to be... _aroused,_ and then  _that._  Just  _staring_ at me.”  
  
“Hey, it scarred  _me,_ too.”  
  
“You  _laughed._ I  _screamed._ ”  
  
“You did not  _scream._ You yelped.”  
  
“I 'yelped?'”  
  
“Yea. Like-...' _Eughh-!_ '” I try to imitate her, but my voice is a little too deep to do it accurately. And her voice has that rasp to it I can't quite capture. I try a second time. “' _Eeeuggh-!_ '” I make a face as I do so.  
  
She smacks me on the back of the neck again, but her hand plants itself there.  
  
Before I know it, she's pulled my head forward, and her lips are mashed against mine.  
  
I lose track of the fact that we're in an arcade, out in public, and let my hands start getting a little frisky. She catches me, but keeps kissing me, my wrists pinched in her palms.  
  
And then her tongue makes a leap, and I'm out.  
  
Sucking in air and choking on it as we separate, I laugh weakly in spite of my own lack of...courage? Interest? I don't know. It's not my first rodeo, I've just never been much of a fan of-...But I mean, anyway, we're in  _public,_ and so...-  
  
“Heh.” She's smiling stupidly with that sneaky, sneaky look of hers, like she's up to no good. Which, well, maybe she is. We are. She wipes my lips with her thumb, her own lips with her sleeve, and takes in a deep breath. We're still pressed together, the lights and sounds of the arcade a weirdly comforting cocoon to this moment. Grinning like a child, Finley wriggles her hands down my hips, reaches behind, and-...  
  
She bops my butt cheeks like bongo drums a couple times.  
  
I  _knew_ these shorts were a good idea.  
  
“Double standard,” I whine facetiously.  
  
“Oh?” she tests.  
  
“I was gonna...-” I wriggle my hands toward her chest and she bats them away.  
  
“Boobies are for indoors,” she cites quietly, as if this is some pre-established rule, which neither of us take seriously. “Butts are for outdoors.”  
  
“We  _are_ indoors,” I point out, given the whole...interior, where we are currently located. “ _Also,_ hold up – butts are off-limits when we're inside, or...-?”  
  
“Outdoors as in...erm...public,” Finley spits out, her tone prim and proper, but she's obviously just making shit up to toy with me.  
  
We stare each other down.  
  
And yea, so, now we're at the whole 'eyes glazed over, kissing, blabla' that I was trying to get to. Had to skip the middle part where I spent the whole day wandering aimlessly through town, waiting for Finley to get off early for this date. Don't get your hopes up too high, though, because what's a story without a little conflict?

 

And that conflict is staring  _us_ down almost as intently as we are each other.  
  
Wobbling my head mischievously, I propose, “Maybe we should settle this  _indoors_...”  
  
“May _be_ ,” she agrees, flicking her finger up into my nose.  
  
Giggling like stupid school girls, we grab each other's hands and head outside.  
  
Not more than a minute off toward Finley's place, though, and a voice echoes down the street from behind.

  
“ **Jelly Donut.** ”  
  
Finley freezes. Her fingers are suddenly squeezing against mine so hard I'm worried her hand will snap off if I turn around. So we just...stand there, for a moment, afraid and confused. I don't recognize whoever this is. Maybe she does?  
  
Are we about to have trouble?  
  
“I  _knew_ you'd take your thot around here one of these days,” growls a bitter voice, closing its distance on us. “Recycling dating spots, too? On top of all of the  _other_ stuff you pull on us? You really  _have_ sunk low.”  
  
“Fin,” I whisper at her, “Who the hell's this?”  
  
Finley isn't responding. She has her phone out with the hand that isn't crushing mine. I can see her pulling up her contacts, getting ready to text someone. I pry myself from her grip – she pops her hand open as soon as she feels my resistance. I spin around to face off with whoever this is. Some kid in a beanie with a visor. Beneath the street lamp at night, I can't make out his face. But his face doesn't matter to me much at the moment, seeing as he's approaching us with a pretty creeptastic swagger.  
  
“Yo,” I bellow, trying to puff myself out, arms akimbo. “What's your deal? Are you the fuckboi that's been stalking uh-”  
  
A blinding flash of white light stuns me out of my sentence. A 'snap' sound accompanies it. A camera?  
  
But my vision is  _way_ too hazed out for it to just be some camera. I blink and I blink, but my eyes can't seem to get the flash cleared out of the way.  
  
“Kass!” I hear Finley cry out. Then she coughs, whimpers. Something clatters to the concrete.  
  
I spin around toward the sound of her pain, stumbling around. Is this sicko choking her?  
  
Because he  _sure_ as hell isn't going to get away with  _that_.  
  
Seeing things is still damned difficult, but I can hear the struggling enough to know I'm close.   
  
I hear Finley shout, “ **#BLOCKED** ” and the weirdest tingle sweeps over me as a gust of wind rushes across the street. My hat gets blow off.  
  
“That two-bit mighta worked on my friend,” grunts the stranger, “but not on me. You're gonna  _pay_ for what you did to him – what you do to  _us_.”  
  
I don't know  _what_ he is on about, but I am gonna make him  _off_ about it  _so_ fast.  
  
“Kass,” Finley gurgles out, “ **INDOORS**...”  
  
What? Why is...-?  
She winces in a squeaking, awful sound that makes me shudder.  
  
I reach out at the bigger of the two person-like shapes and pry them apart. I get tapped on the head by a single finger, twice, just as I'm about to-  
  
A blinding flash of white light stuns me out of my sentence.  
Er, thought.  
  
Damnit,  _just_ as I getting my sight back, I can't fucking see again!  
  
“Kass!” I hear Finley cry out. Then she coughs, whimpers. Something clatters to the concrete.  
  
Wait, what?  
  
How are they both  _behind_ me again?  
  
He's totally trying to choke Finley again! What the  _hell_  is with this guy? And why's he weaponizing his goddamn epic-bulb phone on me?  
  
“You  _prick_ ,” I snarl, ready to deck him square in the jaw – if I could  _see_ where his jaw  _was.  
  
_ I stumble toward them again, my fists like cocked pistols, ready to fucking go, bro.  
  
“ **#BLOCKED** ”

 

There's that weird tingle again – and whoa, hold up, my hat gets...blown off? Again? I never put it back on. How...?  
  
“That two-bit trick mighta worked on my friend,” grunts the stranger, “but not on me. You're gonna  _pay_ for what you did to him – what you do to  _us_.”  
  
Oh, fuck.  
  
This is some of that  _magic_ shit, isn't it? Damnit.  
  
“Kass,” Finley gurgles out, “ **INDOORS**...”  
  
I'd really been hoping my first run-in with non-cat-related magic would be, like...more fun?  
  
I hear Finley groan and wince, and I use that to differentiate the person-shaped thing that needs to be punched from, well, Finley.  
  
My fist definitely connects with something person-like, but definitely not its face, and definitely not hard enough to bring it down.  
  
Turns out, my bark is worse than my bite.  
  
I rub at my eyes, desperate to  _see_ again, and before I know it, there's that damn finger, double-tapping at my forehead again.  
  
“Kass!” I hear Finley cry out. Then she coughs, whimpers. Something clatters to the concrete.  
  
And the choking noises again.  
  
Yea, this is  _old._ Replaying memes on a loop is one thing, this is something else.  
  
I close my eyes, the circlular flash of white still bouncing back at me from the insides of my eyelids.  
  
“ **#BLOCKED** ”

 

That shiver up my spine – Finley casting a spell of some sort? I guess?  
That gust of wind –  _ha,_ I keep my hat on this time, though.  
  
“That two-bit trick mighta worked on my friend,” grunts the stranger, “but not on me. You're gonna  _pay_ for what you did to him – what you do to  _us_.”  
  
“Kass,” Finley gurgles out, “ **INDOORS**...”

  
I'm at a damn loss. If I try to attack the jerk, he'll just...bop me back again. Like I'm living in a vid clip on loop. So this time, I wait a sec for my vision to clear. I take deep breathes – which is damn difficult with the sounds of Finley in pain, exactly the same as before.  
  
This dude is fucking  _dead._ I don't know how, but he just...he  _is._  He's...-  
  
Gone?  
  
I'm being shaken by the shoulders.  
  
“'S not working. She's just...staring.”  
  
Whoa, wait, Mason?  
  
“I found Finley's phone...”  
  
Avery.  
  
I rub at my eyes, gently, but my legs give out. I sink to my knees, gripping at Mason's shins for support, and cough out a glob of spit that's caught in my throat. Yum.  
  
“Kass?” Mason growls, shifting her feet away from the little puddle I've just dropped in front of her.  
  
I catch my breath – my chest is on fire, my head is light and my ears are buzzing.  
  
“Some-...Some asshole...-” I pant out, spiddling out more coughs.  
  
Finley. That guy took Finley.  
  
**_INDOORS.  
  
_** Finley's callout reverberates through my skull. I'm filled with that warm, glowing sensation I'd experienced minutes ago, though it feels quite a ways back.  
  
My body is washed clean of the awful gunk clogging it up, and as I hop to my feet and regain my balance, every inch of my being is being pulled in a very specific direction.  
  
“That way,” I say, pointing down the street. “She-...She's that way,” I declare, not understanding how I know this, but  _knowing_ I know this.  
  
Mason slaps me on the back, getting me to follow her. Avery stumbles along beside us, inspecting Finley's phone.  
  
“Ooh,” they bemoan. “She's not gonna like this...” Avery is tapping, clicking, swiping, but the phone is cracked to hell and not turning on.  
  
“Gonna like getting  _saved_ from some freak,” Mason dismisses their worry, flicking her hands out in front of her, fists balled at her sides.  
  
I hear an unsettling '- _fwoosh-_ ' and realize that Mason has lit her fingers ablaze. A blue glow resonates from her clenched hands as she marches down the street.  
  
“What happened?” Avery asks, leaning across Mason and glaring at me. “Was it some guy with a...a rough voice? A creepy smile? Spiky hair?”  
  
“Huh? No, it was...some idiot in a beanie,” I tell them.  
  
“Oh, OK,” Avery sounds relieved for some reason. Hello? Our friend got freaking  _nabbed_ by some stranger?

 

“'S not important,” Mason decrees in a guttural growl. “Whoever it is, they're gettin' beat into pulp.”  
  
Yikes. I've never seen Mason like this, though Avery has told me just how scary she can be when she needs to.  
  
“Sure,” Avery acknowledges their girlfriend's rage. “But, like, it  _would_ be nice to know what we're up against.” They stuff Finley's phone into their hoodie and pull out their own. “No  _signal?_ How in the...-?”  
  
Realizing that it might be a good idea to try and call some kind of backup, I pull out my phone, but...same deal.  
  
“Magic?” I mutter, at a loss.  
  
“Maybe,” Avery theorizes. “Look, look, listen, Kass – what they did they do to you?”  
  
“Huh?” I'm a bit lost in the conversation, my guts  _yanking_ me toward a left turn at the end of this block. I indicate this to the others, and we cross the street, narrowly avoiding a car.  
  
“Were just standin' there,” Mason explains. “Grabbin' yer hat?”  
  
“ _Oh_!” I suddenly remember. “Some kinda time-loop,” I tell them, simply. They'll know what that means, right? Magic crap? “They blinded me with some...kinda light, and then...I was looping the same moment a few times, 'til you found me.”  
  
“Whoa,” Avery grunts, apparently surprised. That's no good. Aves is the one reading up on this stuff all the time... “Well, uhh, OK, but  _how_ did they do it? With their hands? With their voice?”

“Their phone's flash blinded me,” I advise. “But  _way way_ worse than a normal camera flash. And then...-” I try to imitate with my own finger what they did to my head. “Something like that, and that keep sending me backward in time.”

  
“Your perception, anyway,” Avery corrects. I raise a brow at them, and they grin half-heartedly. “I, uh, that's-...It's a certain kind of magic, it...distorts...Y-Ya know, let's...not fuss over the details.”  
  
“Good idea,” I agree, suddenly remembering my usual penchant for dragging things out so much. I guess being so scared about Finley has jarred me from my usual habits.  
  
Another junction of streets, and my insides scream toward the left, so leftward we go.  
  
“'S the way to Fin's apartment,” Mason mumbles, the flames in her fingers dying down.  
  
“Is it?” I prod, having not yet been there before.  
  
“What do you  _mean,_ 'is it?'” Avery puffs with disbelief.  
  
“Thought you knew where we're going,” Mason darkly states, freezing in her tracks.  
  
“I  _do_ ,” I insist, equally determined, stomping right up against her. She looks pissed, but I am  _not_ up for her moodiness when I  _know_ where we're going. “She's  _this_ way,” I seethe, stabbing my finger onward.  
  
Man, maybe I'm just as moody as she is right now.  
I don't care if she has fire hands or Avery has...garbage power, I  _know_ Finley is this way, so that's where I'm going.  
  
I walk off on my own, but they follow a few moments after, catching up.  
  
There's a tense silence as we approach...wherever we're going. Finley's apartment? Maybe? I hadn't really thought of  _where,_ exactly, but the more I dwell on that thought, the more I decide it must be it.  
  
' _Indoors,_ ' she'd said. Referring to, like...a private place? Huh. Like, based on the convo we'd  _just_ had, she had to have been referring to her home. I just kind of  _assumed_ she was, anyway, but...-  
  
Wait, wait – Finley had used some kind of magic, hadn't worked, but she's spoken it. ' _#BLOCKED_ ,' right? Had she...charmed me? Like, literally, magically? With a tracking charm, or something?  
  
I try to explain this to Avery, who seems to buy it. Mason doesn't care either way, but she's shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, as if saving her energy for a fight.  
  
When we hit the apartment building, Avery heads for the nearest recycling bin – when they join us at the door, they've got a pair of glass shivs attached to plastic handles. They conceal them in their hoodie.  
  
Damn, going hardcore on me, huh? Didn't know you had it in you, Aves. Guess dating Mason must be rubbing off on them.  
  
Mason sticks her wallet up against the doors scanner, and we're granted access. Huh. So, yea, totally all 'family' and what-not with this group, right? I know Mason and her are close, but had no idea they were  _that_ close...  
  
We make our way up to Finley's apartment, and I find myself desperately wishing my first time here was more private, more romantic, more...not whatever all  _this_ is.  
  
We reach the apartment. The door is already open slightly.  
  
That's a bad sign.  
  
The others turn to me expectantly, and I give them a fervent nod. I  _know_ Finley is inside.  
  
But for the door being open, it's eerily quiet. We enter.  
  
The place is...a bit of a mess. Fuck. A struggle  _definitely_ happened. This is awful. My insides are sore. I can't step far into the place, like I'm motion sick, so I linger by the door.  
  
I'm so scared I can't even hear myself breathing. But I know where Finley is. I point at the bedroom, and the others nod. Mason pulls out her fists, lighting them up – but there's no sound.  
  
This puts me off. Something isn't right. As the others approach what I presume is Finley's bedroom, I'm impulsed to close the door to the apartment – it doesn't make any noise. None at all. Maybe I'm just...really good at being sneaky?  
  
But then I see the freak lunging up on Avery from behind. I shout out a warning – but, sure enough, nothing comes out of my throat. I'm on Mute.  
  
Goddamn magic.  
  
There's a tussle, and I'm honestly too spooked to follow what's going on. I'm a Muggle. Or a Normie. Or whatever the hell their slang word is for it. I'm not cut out for a damn magic duel. I hide behind the kitchen countertop.  
  
The living daylights gets scared out of me when a hand clamps down on my shoulder, but that gut feeling that's been yelling at me instantly melts away, like a tether being snapped off.  
  
It's Finley. She looks like  _shit._ I try to say her name, but, of course, nothing comes out. So I grope my trembling fingers at her face, and we hug briefly, foreheads pushing together. I feel pieces of something fall against my hat, my shoulder – shards of ceramic? I notice a fresh stain of brown liquid against the wall of Finley's kitchen, and pieces of what I assume are a broken coffee mug are all over. As I brush the shards off me, I realize that the droplets of coffee that have splashed on us are...hot?  
  
Finley peeks around the corner of her island counter, then looks back to me, her eyes flickering with some kind of thought process. My heart is pounding, the veins in my neck undulating with discomfort from the vacuum-like feeling of all this bizarre magic-Mute crap. I feel the floor shake.  
  
Sound rushes back into the room, and I feel my ears pop.  
  
Finley and I both peek our heads over the counter. Avery is in a heap in the corner of the living room, and Mason is lurched over our dickhead of the evening, her hand leveled near his face.  
  
But nothing's happening. I notice that even the flames consuming her hands aren't...animating? Flaming? Like they're frozen.  
  
The jerk's hand is pointed at her forehead. He's curled defensively.  
  
My head puts one and one together and draws the conclusion that he's...'Paused' Mason?  
  
Stupid magic, man! I'm already sick of this.  
  
The guy squirms his way out from beneath Mason, who's definitely frozen solid in place. He notices us.  
  
And then I notice that his face is...concealed? No, no. Censored. Blurred out. Fucking A.  
  
“ _There_ you are,” he breathes raggedly, rolling up his singed sleeves. His voice sounds all weird, too, like its been filtered. “I  _told_ you, you meme-whore, your bright-eyed bullshit and tricks won't work on me.”  
  
He's approaching us, and I'm suddenly scared to hell as to what he's planning on doing.  
  
“He's right,” Finley murmurs under breath, as if something has dawned on her. Maybe that we're screwed? But she grabs my hand, squeezes it tightly, and stares me straight in the eyes. “Kass,” she says firmly. “ **You're like a SPONGE.** ”  
  
Her words ripple through my skull. I'm completely taken out of the moment.

I'm transported to that instant at the café, earlier that day, when Finley was teasing me about how I...-  
  
_Oh.  
  
_ I suddenly know what to do.  
  
I lean against the counter, slipping a little on the slick linoleum as I gain my footing. I roll up my sleeves. I see the guy starting to make some weird hand gesture, and I somehow  _know_ what he's about to do.

He’s about to use magic, his swipes like gestures on a phone screen watching a video. Rewind, pause, mute…

I’m like a sponge. Absorb, squeeze back out — something Finley did makes me know I can somehow reflect this weird bullshit right back at the prick.

Like she’s working magic  _through me_ somehow.  
  
So I lunge at him, slapping my hand on his forehead before he manages to hit mine. Every ounce of my being is consumed with the idea of…rewinding the video — of his life.   
So I swipe my fingers left against his stupid face. A few times, for good measure.

And when I release my hand, he’s…not there.  
  
Mason suddenly bursts back to life, her hand slamming into the floor. Wheezing, she collapses into a heap. Avery is groaning, too.  
  
Finley gasps, pattering her fingers together in front of her chest with excited relief.  
  
“It worked!” she squeaks, tackling me and giving me wet kisses on the cheek.  
  
I'm dumbfounded. Did I just do magic? It felt more like...magic was done  _on_ me. Through me, actually. Or something.  
  
“Where...-?” I murmur, dizzy. Did I just make that guy stop existing? No. No way. I sent him back to his home. I  _know_ it, somehow. Just like I knew Finley was here.  
  
“It worked, it worked-it-worked-it-worked,” Finley is cooing, hopping on her toes. “That was  _amazing,_ we outsmarted his creepy ass!”  
  
“Not bad,” Mason says, trying to sound all tough and casual, but barely holding herself up by her elbows. “Wasn't...expecting that,” she coughs out.  
  
“I  _told_ you we should've figured out what he was capable of,” Avery whimpers, fluttering their lips irritably.  
  
“What if he comes back?” I pose, my chest tightening right up with the fresh memory of how scary all of that was.  
  
“I doubt he will,” Finley decides. “You used his own magic right back on him. If he even comprehends what happened, he won't be dumb enough to try it again.”  
  
I try to think back on that moment – from what Avery has tried to explain about all of this crap, my gut is telling me that...the asshole just got rejected, hard. Magic rejected. Probably won't even have the will to look me or Finley in the eyes anymore. But, yea, even if he tries something, we have an idea of how to handle him.  
  
“Wait,  _you_ used magic?” Avery asks cautiously, giving me a suspicious look.  
  
“ _Technically_ ,” I correct, “Finley used magic  _on_ me, and I...just sorta...did what I do? I think? But like...magically?” I wriggle my fingers awkwardly in front of myself.  
  
Avery huffs, wiping their hands across their head.  
  
“Guess it's...good that I made everyone study that book, then,” Avery sighs. They give me an uncertain glance. I immediately shake my head and take a step back.  
  
“I am staying the  _hell_ away from all of  _this_ noise,” I insist, looking around the trashed apartment.  
  
“'S not a good idea to stick yer head in the sand,” Mason grumbles, dusting herself off. “Sorry 'bout yer couch,” she adds flatly to Finley, noting the flipped-upside-down state of...said couch.  
  
“It's OK,” Finley shakily assures. “Think I'll maybe see if Graves will let us stay at his place tonight.”  
  
“Only if we tell him the truth,” I say, sticking my nose right in this. “Maybe you guys wanna keep this stuff a secret, and that's fine, whatever – but from  _each other?_ ” I shake my head vehemently. “I am  _not_ about that.”  
  
“Hoo- _hoo_ ,” Finley laughs, intrigued as she wriggles her arms across my hips. “Stickin' your  _foot_ down, are ya? I like it.”  
  
Mason finishes inspecting a begrudging Avery for injuries, then pulls them in close with one arm, kissing them on the head roughly.  
  
“I'm  _fine,_ Mom,” Avery dryly teases her. “Isn't it past my  _bedtime_?”  
  
“ **Ain'tcher Mom** ,” Mason bellows darkly, but quietly, jamming a finger into Avery's ribs. “Never call me that again.”  
  
“R-right, yes, Ma'am,” Avery ekes out with alarm, shrinking before her.  
  
“ **Ma'am's not better.** ”  
  
Finley and I exchange endearing looks at this...adorable? Exchange?  
  
“That was pretty hot, by the way,” Finley whispers into my ear, giving it a feline-like nibble. Yeeeeeeshhhh, oh, gosh. 'Gosh?' Crap.  
  
But I manage to, uh, 'sponge' her sultry teasing. Gripping her waist and rubbing my thumbs against her stomach, I pose, “What was? Obeying your beck and call?”  
  
“ _Ha._ You  _are_ more of a dog person,” she slyly taunts, toppling my hat off my head and yanking my hair-tie loose.  
  
“'Ey,” Mason grunts from the doorway. “Can't save yer mush for later?”  
  
“So  _this_ is what it's like,” Avery notes, bemused.  
  
Mason groans impatiently.

“Give us a sec, guys,” I call out to them, eyes locked against Finley's “We need a minute before we, uh, go  _outdoors_...”  
  
Finley giggles through a toothy grin, ruffling her fingers through my hair before diving at me with a kiss on the mouth.  
  
I end up, ya know, 'absorbing' her tongue a little, while we're at it, and return that in kind.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for giving this story a try!
> 
> You can check out this blog post if you want to know what stuff can help support my work.  
>  https://destiny-smasher.tumblr.com/post/184754205794/support
> 
> Thank you for all of your support, especially taking the time to read this!


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